I chose to believe that several known (and lesser known artists) have turned the aesthetic destruction inwards by staging poetic suicides as a closure to a major body of work. Their lives would be read like straight lines, their works indicated as dots upon these lines which reach contextual perfection in death: the last masterpiece. The protagonist's life becomes a real life drama, his action, work and achievements are enacted as chapters in a novel or tracks on a concept album. The final act of self-annihilation would be his last sublime creation. I fantasise about earning my own pedestal in this private pantheon of beauty. – Martin Bladh